A Dramatic Evening - Page 2

floor, an expression of dismay
on her face.

Mrs. Perkins (aside). Dear me! I'd forgotten all about it. _This_
is the night the club is to meet here!

Bradley. Ah, Perkins, how d' y' do? Glad to see me? Gad! you don't
look it.

Perkins. Glad is a word which scarcely expresses my feelings,
Bradley. I--I'm simply de-lighted. (Aside to Mrs. Perkins, who has
been greeting Mrs. Bradley.) Here's a kettle of fish. We must get
rid of them, or we'll miss The Lyons Mail.

Mrs. Bradley. You two are always so formal. The idea of your
putting on your dress suit, Thaddeus! It'll be ruined before we are
half through this evening.

Bradley. Certainly, Perkins. Why, man, when you've been moving
furniture and taking up carpets and ripping out fireplaces for an
hour or two that coat of yours will be a rag--a veritable rag that
the ragman himself would be dubious about buying.

Perkins (aside). Are these folk crazy? Or am I? (Aloud.) Pulling
up fireplaces? Moving out furniture? Am I to be dispossessed?

Mrs. Bradley. Not by your landlord, but _you_ know what amateur
dramatics are.

Bradley. I doubt it. He wouldn't have let us have 'em here if he
had known.

Perkins. Amateur--amateur dramatics?

Mrs. Perkins. Certainly, Thaddeus. You know we offered our parlor
for the performance. The audience are to sit out in the hall.

Perkins. Oh--ah! Why, of course! Certainly! It had slipped my
mind; and--ah--what else?

Bradley. Why, we're here to-night to arrange the scene. Don't tell
us you didn't know it. Bob Yardsley's coming, and Barlow.
Yardsley's a great man for amateur dramatics; he bosses things so
pleasantly that you don't know you're being ordered about like a
slave. I believe he could persuade a man to hammer nails into his
piano-case if he wanted it done, he's so insinuatingly lovely about
it all.

Perkins (absently). I'll get a hammer. [Exit.

Mrs. Perkins (aside). I must explain to Thaddeus. He'll never
forgive me. (Aloud.) Thaddeus is so forgetful that I don't believe
he can find that hammer, so if you'll excuse me I'll go help him.
[Exit.

Bradley. Wonder what's up? They don't quarrel, do they?

Mrs. Bradley. I don't believe any one could quarrel with Bessie
Perkins--not even a man.

Bradley. Well, they're queer. Acted as if they weren't glad to see
us.

Mrs. Bradley. Oh, that's all your imagination. (Looks about the
room.) That table will have to be taken out, and all these chairs
and cabinets; and the rug will never do.

Bradley. Why not? I think the rug will look first-rate.

Mrs. Bradley. A rug like that in a conservatory? [A ring at the
front-door bell is heard.

Bradley. Ah!